August 6, 1990

The four days since Saddam Hussein's forces invaded Kuwait had been tense both at Langley Air Force Base and throughout the world. Every day at work the conversation was the same: "Do you think we're going? Are we gonna go?" And my response was always the same: "No, I don't think so. I think he'll pull out."

The truth is, I knew deep down in my heart that we were gonna go. I was just trying to do my part to relieve some of the palpable tension that was present in my unit, and in my home. My wife, Mary, had asked me the same thing when I got back from the recall on the 2nd, and I told her that no, I didn't think we were gonna go. But I knew we were all along.

My unit had been put on telephone standby when they released us on the 2nd, which means that wherever we went, we had to be reachable by phone. Basically that meant staying home and not doing much of anything, because after all, this was 1990 BCP - Before Cellular Phones. Pagers were the rage then, but a pager wouldn't cut it - you had to be reachable by phone, and that was it. But after sitting around the house at night for three nights I was starting to get cabin fever, so secure in the (false) notion that the phone call was not going to come, my wife and I went out to eat at one of the local Mexican restaurants, Chi-Chi's. We left at around 7 or so and got back just before 9.

And the first thing my son, Raymond, said when I walked in the door was that the Law Enforcement Desk had called about half an hour ago, and I needed to call them back NOW.

Oh, shit.

Fifteen minutes later I was standing at the front door in my BDU's, my mobility bag at my feet, getting ready to leave for "I don't know where," with a return date of "I don't know when" - if at all. My son and my youngest daughter, Kathy, were home at the time, but my oldest girl, Melissa, was out on a date, so I said good-bye to Mary, Raymond and Kathy, telling them that no, I didn't know where I was going and no, I didn't know when I'd be back, but everything was OK and not to worry about me because I was a big boy and could take care of myself.

It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do in my entire life. That's the only time in my entire life when I've walked out of the door to my home, not knowing if I'd ever walk back in.

Was I scared? No, not really. Nervous, yes; uncertain, yes. But scared? No.

That would come 5 months later on January 19, 1991.

So Mary and I got in her car and drove out to the base, and once we got to the Squadron area we said our good-byes, kissed each other, hugged, and then she got in her car and drove away. I told her that I didn't want her to see me walking away, so I stood there while she drove off, waving to her as the car pulled out of sight into the darkness.

Then I picked up my mobility bag and headed to the Armory to sign in and start the out-processing routine. In the background I heard the sound of jet engines; that was the two squadrons of F-15's that had been tagged for deployement leaving. The maintenance crews were processing out already, and would be leaving a few hours after that. The 1st Tactical Fighter Wing was going to war, and I was going with it.

Once I signed in, the waiting process began. And it would be a long wait. There were a hell of a lot of people needing to get off the ground, and there were only so many aircraft available to do it. The airlift was so massive that they had to call in Air Force Reserve aircraft from as far away as Missouri, and that took time. Once I signed in at the Armory they issued us our weapons, and the waiting game began. We passed the time initially by doing bag checks, checking the contents of everyone's mobility bags to make sure everyone had what they were supposed to have. Of course we had the idiots who didn't take things seriously and didn't have the required gear, which meant they had to call home and have the wife bring it to them or go to the barracks and get it. The bag checks took most of the night.

The next day we were still on standby waiting to be scheduled for a flight out. The list of Security Police troops who were verified to be going was being finalized, and it was at this point that the flight commander, a lieutenant whose name I can't remember, came to me and told me that he had a favor to ask of me. He then proceeded to tell me that since I had just returned from a remote tour in Korea that I didn't have to go; I didn't have to deploy with the unit. I could call my wife at home and tell her to come pick me up, pick up my bag, and go home. The favor, he said, was that he wanted me to volunteer to go. He said that in the short time I had been in the unit I had proven myself to be a reliable person and someone with the kind of "no bullshit" attitude that was going to be needed in a situation such as this, and that he would be forever in my debt if I would volunteer to go.

At that point we both looked over at the bumbling, inept, sorry excuse of a Technical Sergeant who was the primary Squad Leader whose place I'd be taking, watching as he fumbled with his gear and dropped most of it. The lieutenant then looked at me and said, "If you don't go, I'm stuck with him."

And I said, "Okay, L-T, I'll go." And that was that. I was going off to war when I didn't have to. The L-T looked me in the eye and with a very solemn, serious look shook my hand firmly and simply said, "Thank you!"

Aside from my son and the L-T, up until this point no one else has ever known that I didn't have to go. But there was no way I could stay home - no way in the world. Shirking what I felt to be my duty and not going with my unit when it deployed into harms' way would have eaten at me for the entire length of the deployment and for the rest of my life. Besides, this is what it was all about - this was what everyone who wears the uniform trains for, the protection and defense of our nation when our nation calls. And my nation had called, and there was no way I was NOT gonna go.

No way in Hell.

Later that afternoon we got word from the squadron that if we wanted to call our families and have them come over to the Armory to see us we could; I called home, and about 30 minutes later my wife and three kids showed up. This was a good thing because it gave me a chance to say good-bye to Melissa who hadn't been home the night before. When it was time for them to go it was kinda tough, but not quite as tough as the night before. Maybe because it was full daylight this time, I don't know, but that's just the way it was.

About an hour after that we got the word to get on the buses so we could be taken over to the Mobility Processing Center on the Flightline. Shortly after that we found ourselves doing yet more waiting on the hard tarmac of the hangar area, since our aircraft had once again been delayed by scheduling/mechanical/who knows what issues. They processed us out as soon as we got there, but we spent a few hours more waiting on the asphalt, trying to get comfortable.

At 2130 hours (9:30PM to you civilians) on 7 Aug 90 we got our Departure Briefing, got on the C-141 waiting for us on the ramp, and left the base headed for Dhahran Air Base in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

And I still didn't think that what was happening had really sunk in to most of us on the plane.

All that would change soon enough.

More in two days.

IHC